The Attribute of the Strong
by clair beaubien
Summary: Missing Scene between S13 finale and S14 premiere. Sam gets word of an angel sighting in Atlanta. He asks Cas for help.


"Hey, Cas. I need you to do me a favor," Sam said as he passed me in the hallway.

"Of course."

Sam was under a great deal of stress at this time: Dean had been overtaken by Michael and been missing for several weeks; the Bunker was overfull with the refugees from the other world; and Nick had somehow survived and was currently our 'guest.' Sam was running himself into exhaustion staying on top of all of it, so any help I could give him I would gladly offer.

"I have to check out a possible 'angel sighting' in Atlanta," he said as I followed him into his bedroom. He tossed his duffel bag onto the bed and began quickly filling it with clothes and weapons. "I'll be gone a couple of days and I need someone to take care of Nick for me 'til I get back."

That was a request I hadn't been expecting and I did not offer the immediate 'yes' I'd been planning.

"I mean, I can't ask Mom to do it, and definitely not Jack." Sam continued to pack as he spoke, not sparing me a look. "And anybody else, well, you know, I think it should be one of us."

One of us.

Yes, I knew it was Nick and _only_ Nick, and that he had only been a vessel to Evil. And even though the time I had spent in thrall to that same evil was entirely my own responsibility, it was an ordeal for me to simply look upon that face, to remember what it was to be trapped by, and at the mercy of, the devil.

I couldn't imagine what it must be like for Sam, who had endured so much worse for _so_ much longer, to interact with Nick, how he could go into that room time after time, day after day. Yet, every day, several times every day, Sam brought him food and water and medicine, checked on his well-being, even frequently spent time simply offering him company in what was, granted, a disorienting, painful time for Nick. And never once did he approach Nick with anything less than patience and kindness, albeit with a certain, understandable, trepidation.

I wasn't sure I could do that. Actually, I was sure that I _couldn't _do it. Certainly not with anything approaching equanimity. How Sam could do it, could look upon that face from which he had so often seen only hatred and disdain, so often received mockery and abuse and vile epithets, was beyond me in more than just metaphorical terms.

"Cas?" Sam asked, interrupting my thoughts. I was about to reply in the absolute negative when he opened the medicine cabinet over his sink and, for a very brief moment, we were both reflected in the mirror.

Seeing that, our combined reflections, a sudden, disturbing, thought occurred to me: not that long ago, mine had been the face of Evil tormenting Sam, foully, physically, sordidly. Yet not once had he ever exhibited the slightest unease in my presence, never betrayed the slightest repugnance.

Had he ever felt the same trepidation around me that he now felt with Nick? If he had, I was never aware of it. I was never aware of even the slightest hint of it.

"I told Nick I'm going and that you'd check on him," Sam continued when I still hadn't answered. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but I've got a chance to maybe find Dean and I need your help. Please."

_Please._ That wasn't a ploy or ruse or a false sentiment. When Sam Winchester used that word, _please_, it meant he was asking something for himself that he didn't believe he deserved.

He was surviving on three hours sleep a night trying to keep us all alive, and he was only reluctantly asking for something, for one thing, for himself.

Asking if of _me._

Despite all I had ever done to the Winchesters, to the world, to _Sam_ himself, he had never done anything but forgive and forget and move on.

"Of course, Sam. Of course. You go, find Dean. I'll – I'll take care of –" It took me a particular effort to say it. "_Nick_."

"_Thanks,_" he said and he let out a deep breath I hadn't realized he'd been holding. He pulled his duffel bag over his shoulder and grasped my arm with what seemed a particular strength and warmth. "I owe you one," he said and then he was gone.

"Quite the contrary," I said.

* * *

_The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong._

Mahatma Gandhi


End file.
